Midnight In the Hanging Tree
by kickstand75
Summary: The Capitol has been destroyed, a new government now in place, and Gale Hawthorne has settled into a new life. But at what cost? He must learn to reconcile regrets from his past if he ever hopes to move on completely. As he examines his choices, a new mystery emerges that threatens to destroy their hard won peace. My thanks to ever wonderful, firedew for her beta skills.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: The first three chapters of this story are written already. I hope to update those quickly, after that updates may come more slowly as I finish the story. This story is dedicated to my friend Brandon, who wondered if Gale ever got over Katniss. The question made me intrigued enough to write this story. I hope you like it.**

I wake up to the bright sun shining in my eyes. The covers on my small bed are twisted and rumpled again, my body drenched with sweat. Though it's summertime here in District 2, the weather is never really warm. I think that maybe I've had more nightmares. They've been coming every night and despite the large amounts of whiskey that are now readily available to me, I've not found it any easier to drift to sleep, nor stay sleeping.

It's almost always the same nightmare. When I wake I am still haunted by the same questions that I can never hope to answer. Could I have made a different decision and saved Prim? If I had saved her, would my best friend be beside me in this bed? Did my rash and regrettable choices really do that much harm? These are only questions I dare ask myself in the still of the night, after waking up from jumbled, frantic dreams that always end the same.

The regret is always there, and yet, when I am rational in the light of day, I realize that the outcome of the decisions I alone made, would always be the same. Choices I made, weapons I designed, and the destinies that were cut short because of me would always hang over my head. In the end, I always wipe the sweat from my forehead and move on in my day. During the night, the fear and shame cripples me. Come morning, I put myself back together, make the bed, shower, and show up at the Central Office, grateful that my hands no longer have to be covered by mine dust and that we now exist in a government that doesn't force young children to pay for the mistakes of a rebellion that was over long before they ever existed.

And yet, one lingering question remains to me as I push myself from the bed, ready to begin my day. The choices I made and forced upon countless innocent people - were those actions any better than the government I helped to destroy?

"Good morning, Mr. Hawthorne." A polite voice with an accent I haven't yet identified greets me like this every morning.

"Emma, how many times do I need to tell you, you can call me Gale?" I remember how to be polite and charming when the need suits me. Of course, this is spoken with a smile on my face. The fear and trauma that still lingers underneath the surface from the night now needs to be masked for the work day.

No matter how many times I tell my assistant to call me Gale, she unfailingly reverts to the more formal Mr. Hawthorne. She is a mystery, this Emma with no last name. I was asked to give her the job of being my assistant. And though she has been working with me for months now, I still know almost nothing about her other than how she drinks her coffee in the morning - two cups exactly with sugar, but no milk. She is always smartly dressed, with no stray hairs out of place and makeup done perfectly each morning. I know she excels at interpreting experimental weapons blueprints and that, even though she wears heels, she can keep up with me when we tour the factories together. I know the sandy blonde of her long, wavy hair most likely isn't the real color and that her brown eyes are the product of contact lenses, rather than genetics. I have found that if you stand too close to her or come upon her suddenly, she startles easily.

I know she intrigues me. She has no last name and hasn't been willing to provide one, at least not to me. She never speaks of her family or her past. And when she thinks I'm not listening, she hums the saddest songs. I've almost, but not quite, recognized a few. The names of the songs linger just out of reach in my memory. I've tried getting information from her. I've used humor and what I think are trick questions, and yet she never slips up and gives anything beyond what I already know about her.

"Mr. Hawthorne?" Her voice interrupts my wandering mind. "Are we finalizing this blueprint today and touring the factory again? You know they put us on a tight schedule for this new system."

"Yeah," I answer slowly, my mind coming back from thoughts of my mysterious assistant to the present task at hand. "Yeah, let's get started. We need to deliver the finished system to Factory 3 today to begin production. I received a message yesterday, after you left for the evening, saying they've rushed everything. Though I haven't a clue as to why. An upgraded inter-district communications surveillance system shouldn't need to be are plenty of other jobs that need to be finished before this one becomes necessary."

Emma just rolls her eyes at me. She is well used to me speaking my thoughts out loud and pretending she's not there. She pokes at my arm with the pencil she's taken from behind her ear and smiles not unkindly, and I know what she's about to say.

"Mr. Hawthorne, ours is not to question, but to do." This is an oft repeated phrase between the two of us. She is well aware of my tendencies to question authority regarding our newly formed government. The fact that she takes it in stride and doesn't take my musings too seriously makes me happy that she's my assistant and not one of the other young, overly eager toadies that abound in this Central Office.

Even so, an uneasiness ripples across my mind with this newest task at hand. Why would our new government need to have access to high speed cross-country communications network surveillance? I think that this job will bear watching closely in the days and weeks to come.

"So," I say to Emma, running my hands through hair that probably needs a trim. "Let's get busy. These plans won't finalize themselves, will they?"

She walks over to my desk and smiles down at me mischievously, knowing she's just avoided a twenty minute, mostly nonsensical rant about the evils of secret government doings, and pats me on the shoulder, her hand lingering just a bit longer than necessary.

"Nope, Mr. Hawthorne, they sure won't."

As I lift my head to smile in return, I find myself a bit surprised to be wondering what color her eyes actually are underneath those thick, brown contact lenses. I shrug her hand off my shoulder rather more abruptly than I normally would have done, because this line of thinking is not something I want to ponder any further. She has touched me before,so I'm not sure why this time should be any different than her picking a stray hair from my shirt or leaning over me working on the numerous designs we've created together in the last six months. And yet, this time, it is different. And not a little bit unnerving.

My mind abruptly shifts gears to someone I know will never come back to me. She's moved on and with Peeta now. Inside my head I know that, but how does the heart reconcile that a life-long friend, my best friend, is simply no longer there? It leaves a gaping hole that I'm not sure will ever be filled. I'm not sure I want it to be filled. It's been a year since I've last seen her. Haymitch has purposely not spoken of her during his few visits to see me. I'm not sure if that's to protect her or me. Either way, she's moved on. And I need to look forward, not back.

Slightly softening my voice and purposefully not looking back up at now hurt filled eyes, I clear my throat and ask a question ...

"Emma, what time is the factory tour this afternoon again? Could you check for me, please?" She straightens and, as I knew she would, shrugs off the awkward moment between us and returns to her own desk to look at her meticulously kept calendar. And I'm left with a cool breeze on my shoulder where her warm hand just was.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

I am always amazed at the majesty that is District 2. Before it specialized in weaponry and electronics, it was known for its masonry. It's a skill which shows in almost every single building we pass on the short walk from the office building to the factory.

Marble is carved into delicate spirals to top even the most humble storefronts. It is juxtaposed against brick fronts that should cause it to look out of place, and somehow it doesn't. Even though my home, my peace, will always be in the midst of a silent forest filled with towering trees whispering in the wind above me, I find this place grows on you after a while. It is stark, sterile, and beautiful in its own way.

"Woolgathering again, Mr. Hawthorne?" Emma interrupts my thoughts like that a lot. It's like she knows that I'm not truly at home here in this new District. I've never stopped to think about the fact that she fits right in here. She fluidly adapted to every strange behavior and habit that District 2 has to afford. Its close proximity to the old Capital has lent it some odd behaviors to someone used to the abject poverty and hardship of District 12.

Before the war, a pheasant or deer was a rare commodity, to be savored whenever my bow aim was true and someone else didn't need the food more than my family. Now, fresh meat and vegetables are in abundance. For me, at least anyway. It is a luxury I am still accustoming myself with. The people here have never known a bone cold winter where the wind and snow whip through your threadbare jacket when you step outside for a moment. It shows in the children's still chubby cheeks, their openness to new things and strangers, and in the items of clothing, while scarce to come by, are still the best quality.

"You know it, Emma." I smile directly at her and wink.

The wink reminds me of who I used to be. Someone easier in his life. Someone, though burdened with hard work and hunger, who was more carefree in life. Less wise in the choices I made every single day. Life used to be wondering who was going hunting that day, her or me. It used to be finding new ways to elude Peacekeepers and sneak under the fence line towards freedom. It used to be the choice of putting my name in the pot in exchange for food for my family. Those were easy choices. Not the ones I've had to live with these last two years. Skepticism, after all that has happened to me, has planted its roots as deeply within me as the mine I grew up working in. Picking up my pace, I hurry on knowing we can't be late to this appointment.

"Come on, let's get going, slowpoke!" I find myself grabbing her arm to propel her on. It's not something I've ever done before - willingly touch her. I've kept my distance from almost every single person that is on my team. There are few I see on a daily basis and even fewer that I call friend. Those on my team are the only people I see these days anyway, and there is a purposeful distance between them and me. I think I startle her because she jumps a little before leaning into the hand I've placed on her arm. We walk into the factory building together, my hand still on her arm, a slight smile on her sunny face.

* * *

Cries of my name greet me when we walk through the door of the largest electronics factory currently in District 2. It was one of the first things that was rebuilt after we bombed it in the last push to overtake The Capitol. Though the factory is quite large, there aren't many workers here yet. Most of the native population that had lived here before were still, a year later, coming back around to the idea of making a living in this District. We've enticed a few to return, but not nearly enough to put things back together the way they should be. More than a few simply weren't willing to put forth effort into anything resembling work, long used to having things handed to them on if not silver or gold, at least bronze platters from the Capital.

Still, we managed to scrape together a few brave men and women who wanted a better way of living for their children and grandchildren. It was those few we put to work shoring up buildings, storefronts, and homes, amongst other jobs desperately needing attention in our new Panem. Signs of work are all around me as Emma and I head deeper into the building looking for the factory manager's office door. It's a maze in this place and she stays close by my side.

For now, I'm ignoring the calls of my name knowing most likely it's nothing important. My name is nothing I'm proud of at this moment anyway. They call it because they believe it can curry favor with the new regime in place. And with many sundry goods still hard to come by, favor can mean food on the table, heat for your house, or even newer shoes for your children. So, I continue to ignore them because I have no wish to use my ill-gained power to owe the Government any further favors.

"Let's go. There it is just ahead." I say to Emma. To my surprise, she is still right beside me. I've finally spotted the door to the office. The factory manager is one of the few I call friend here and so I only slightly knock before entering. He's expecting me and Emma. Despite our slow walk to the factory itself, we're right on time.

"President Paylor, Secretary Heavensbee," My eyes widening at the visitors inside. "It's nice to see you both. I didn't expect either of you here today with us." They both look a little bit older than when I last saw them. A year repairing what was a hugely flawed governmental system has to take its toll somehow. It shows in the worn, though still friendly, expressions on both their faces.

"Gale," Paylor starts, as she's the one who knows me personally, "Good to see you too. Secretary Heavensbee and I are very pleased with the efforts of both you and your team on this project. We decided it would be best to approve the final plans in person." She doesn't quite meet my eye and it instantly sets my nerves on edge. Though she shakes my hand quite firmly and smiles, it feels false. I've learned to trust my instincts and when I look over to the Secretary, he's not looking at me directly either. This definitely bears more thinking about on my own. As I look back at Emma, I realize maybe not on my own after all. She is hanging just at the edge of door. She's never met the President before, or Secretary Heavensbee for that matter. There's a slight frown on her face too, as if she realizes too that the President and Secretary's smiles may not be so genuine.

"Ma'am, Sir, may I introduce you to a vital member of my team of engineers? Her name is Emma and she was integral to us getting this project completed on time." I beckon to Emma and push her in front of me to shake their hands. They are looking at her closely and I wonder if I've made a mistake in introducing her. This is, after all, a girl with no last name and someone whose background I've never bothered to look into. Though hesitant, she shakes their hands and greets them with a shy smile.

"Nice to meet you, Emma. Have we ever met before today? You have a look about you that's familiar." Paylor is holding onto her hand much longer than a simple handshake dictates and the nervous feeling in my stomach is back again. Emma looks exactly like a doe who's caught the scent of a hunter.

"Anyway," Paylor continues and finally releases Emma's hand. She returns to her military straight posture, wiping her hands against the severe black pencil skirt she's wearing, "Nice to meet you. I look forward to working with both you and Gale in the future. Now, can we see those plans in your bag, Gale?" With a new found reluctance on my part, I reach into my messenger bag and hand over the plans to Secretary Heavensbee. I step forward to explain the intricate details of our design.

* * *

"So as you can see, sir, our design incorporates everything we already knew about President Snow's communication system, plus a few added upgrades that were requested, by you, I presume?" I'm fishing for information at this point, and even though I know they will recognize this, I hope that they will still give me what I want. The specific upgrades they requested allow for much more access to the data being sent that I would have liked. And now knowing that both the President and Heavensbee themselves are interested in making sure this works, I'm wondering if it was a good idea to commit to saying this project could work in the first would a newly formed government, with freely elected people, have need of a communications system that basically spies on its people? Isn't this what I fought to abolish? What I killed for? What I lost myself, and her, over? To be free from a leadership that didn't allow this blatant disregard for the people it governed? So yes, I'm hoping that they'll give me what I want so - well, I'm not sure what I'll do with the information yet, but at least I'll know. And in knowing, perhaps I can figure out the next step.

"Yes, Gale, these were requested specifically by me. Myself, Secretary Heavensbee, and a few other members of my council were increasingly aware of a need for more control in what passes through communications channels within our country. Since we are such a new government, we need to make sure our positions are cemented and therefore need a broader based way of capturing data that is being transmitted. I'm sure you understand? You, who fought so courageously to overthrow first Snow, then Coin?" Paylor is trying to sell me on her agenda, and I'm definitely not buying it. I look to Emma who is watching the President closely. Her eyes never waver and I'm struck by the same familiarity that Paylor professed just moments ago. Where have I seen Emma before? Perhaps this is a puzzle for another time, as my eyes shift back to Paylor who is, it seems, waiting for an answer from me.

"Yes, ma'am," I answer, "absolutely. We wouldn't want things being said about our government being anything like the old power we fought so hard to get rid of. Thank God that is gone forever. I hope that these plans go a long way in ferreting out any people who may want to end your leadership before it even really begins." I hope my face is sincere enough and that any irony in my words is well hidden behind the mask. As I sneak a peek at Emma though, I know by her stern look at me that I haven't fooled her at all. At least I'm not the only one who questions this new design. Maybe she questioned it all along and I'm the one just coming to wrongness of this project? Either way, I need to look into this further. I have a feeling I won't be alone in my investigation.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Things wrapped up quickly at the factory after we handed the plans to the President. I left Paylor and Heavensbee speaking with the factory manager about timelines for production. My piece in this project should have been officially over, but a parting sentence from me could potentially pave the way to keep me involved. I had a feeling turning back would set in motion something that I wished to leave well behind. But since caution was never my strongest suit, I found myself turning back and reopening the closed office door to speak to the office manager, Corvus.

The manager is a good man. He is one of the few refugees from the Capitol that I could say I trusted. He is the closest thing to a genuine friend I had here in this new world we'd helped to create.

When we took over control of the government, he lost everything. He wasn't particularly high in the chain of command under Snow's presidency, but he was well enough off that it hurt his finances dramatically. When it was all said and done, he found himself working as a factory manager in District 2, forced from his life of retirement. It was only recently that I learned he was something more during the years leading to the final rebellion and destruction of the Capitol. 

* * *

For the first six months I lived in District 2, Corvus had invited me out for drinks after work. The routine was unwavering. He would take the short walk from the factory to the office building, clock out from work, and pass by my office door. The first few times he just waved, but then after a few weeks, it turned into him stopping by to talk about the day. After a month or so, this giant, grizzled, keenly intelligent man won me over. I liked that he never asked questions about me or my past. I always just assumed that people knew my story anyway. Until Emma came, I was the youngest person by far in the building. People knew my name and deeds from what had aired over the TV's during the war. As far as I was concerned, they didn't need to know more about me. What was inside my broken self was for me alone. I'd had enough heartbreak from so-called friends to last the rest of my lifetime. I neither wanted nor courted new friends. All that changed, though when I decided to take Corvus up on his offer to go out for drinks after work.

What I imagined to be a one time thing to humor an elderly gentleman turned out to be a nightly routine. Corvus would clock out, interrupt my work, remind me that sometimes life was more than just plans and designs, and we'd head out to the local pub. Even though I wasn't talkative at first, it didn't deter him from talking. He told me stories about indulged people from the Capitol, how things used to be before Snow took over—he still vaguely recalled these stories from his early childhood—and how he watched his entire family die, one by one from old age or disease.

One particular night, when he was very drunk, he told me a story that under normal circumstances he would've never mentioned. He's never mentioned it since, and I'm not sure he even recalls telling me.

"Gale, I've done many things in my 87 years, but nothing compares to these last few years in importance." He grabbed my shoulder and leaned in close, his voice dropping down to a whisper. "Six years ago, I was approached in my lab by one of the former tributes, Beetee. My initial guess was that he was bored on one of the Tribute visits to the Capitol and he stopped in my lab for a quick chat between colleagues. Turns out, that wasn't quite the case. He had been watching me for quite a while and, this visit, had finally decided to take a chance on me."

I interrupted him here, because, even though his voice was quite slurred, his mind seemed clear with what he was telling me. But I needed to make sure he wasn't just pulling my leg. Corvus had a habit of doing just that. He seemed to think it funny when I believed his crazy stories about his past.

"Take a chance on what exactly?"

"Son, if you'd let me continue, you'd find out." Guess I'd been put in my place for a while, so I sat back, determined to listen to his story until the finish. "Anyway, Beetee had been watching me for a few months before he'd approached me. You know him. You think he's twitchy now, you should have met him then." I smiled slightly at this fact, thinking of the time I had worked with Beetee. Yes, I could agree on that. That man was highly nervous of everything and everyone.

"He stopped by late at night. Everyone else had gone home by then. He told me he was involved in a spy network working to overthrow the Capitol. Can you believe that? Well, I sure couldn't. Beetee in a spy ring? I have to say, Gale, I laughed my ass off. And when I was done laughing, I realized he was staring me down through those horribly thick glasses he always wore. He hadn't been laughing with me. He asked me that night if I would join their efforts. They needed someone that was familiar and close to the inner workings of the Capitol. And it turns out, that was me."

He paused for a moment in his narration. I have to say, I would have never expected _that_ to come from him at all. Beetee as a spy? And Corvus, too? I still half way thought he was pulling my leg. From the look on his face, though, maybe he wasn't joking. I interrupted him again, despite my promise to remain silent. Patience has never been my best virtue.

"I'm not sure I understand. How many of you were there? How in the world did you pass unnoticed for so long right underneath the Capitol's nose?" I had so many questions, they barely formed on my lips before the next one tumbled out. To hell with the promise of staying quiet.

"How did you all communicate? The districts are huge, and some don't even have modern communications systems." I had to stop because I was out of breath, my mind whirring with even more questions. By this time, Corvus was laughing at me. Of course, that could have been the enormous amount of whiskey he'd had to drink already. My hasty questions had come in rapid succession of one another. He'd never seen me so excited about something, I suppose. Or this talkative, more like.

"Well, which do you want answered first?" He swigged a generous shot of whiskey before continuing on. "We passed unnoticed for so long because there weren't that many of us. One or two people in each district to begin with. We knew that having more of us gathered together would be a tremendous risk. We also didn't know more than two others in the network. We communicated via letters delivered to anonymous addresses that could only be read with our cipher. If you didn't have the key, our letters read like old friends telling tales about days gone by. The truly brilliant part of the whole thing is that the key was under their noses the whole time. And they never figured it out."

He paused for dramatic effect, ever the showman, and leaned in even closer to me. He began to sing in a soft, throaty voice. It was a song that sent chills up my arms because of its familiarity. One long banned not only in District 12 but throughout the country. A song that my former best friend knew by heart from the time she was a little girl: _The Hanging Tree_. A song that her father had taught her when she was a little girl was the cipher for a countrywide underground uprising?

What the hell? My head had spun with possibilities. It settled down long enough to hear Corvus' voice wobble, a little off-key, to the final haunting stanza of the song.

 _Are you, Are you_

 _Coming to the tree_

 _Wear a necklace of rope, side by side with me._

 _Strange things did happen here,_

 _No stranger would it be,_

 _If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree_

His head, which had been getting lower and lower with each couplet he sang, hit the table with a loud thunk on the last word of the song. The amount of drink he'd had throughout the course of the evening caught up with him at last. He'd passed out and left me to walk home alone with many more questions swirling in my mind than I had answers for. 

* * *

Six months ago, I had found out the truth behind the uprising from my friend. And not a word since then from him about the story he'd told me that night. In moments alone, I questioned the possibility that Katniss' father could have been involved in the early planning of a revolution. Had her mother known he was involved and that's why she banned him from teaching it to Katniss? Had it always been his intention to bring his daughter into the network when she got old enough?

Did the Capitol know that he'd been involved with everything, and, more importantly, how did it factor into Katniss being picked to represent the face of the revolution? And why did Corvus tell that story to me that night? Besides an alcohol loosened tongue, there had to be a point behind the message, didn't there?

"Let's go, Emma. We don't want to keep Corvus from beginning the prototype any longer." My hand still firmly held the open office door and my mind now reigned back to the task at hand, I reminded my friend to keep me informed of any problems with the new design.

"Corvus, if you have any questions about these plans, please let me know right away. There are a few tricky wiring directions that may need to be looked at again." With a brisk nod from him, I gently closed the door and hoped that my friend would come to me with answers. If he didn't, a conversation would need to happen. Sooner rather than later, I thought.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Sorry this chapter took so long readers. I hope to get chapter five out much sooner than this one took to write.**

 **Chapter Four**

 _He stands on the precipice of a large cliff. The whole valley stretched out below. There is a faint cool breeze on his face as he looks out. The air hasn't turned crisp quite yet, though it won't be long before the season abruptly changes on the mountain range. He knows this spot well. It is one he has visited before, a familiar landscape. He returns to it every time expecting different answers, different scenarios and outcomes than the ones dealt him over and over again._

 _The morning is silent. It wasn't always so. He had looked beyond and down into the valley many times before. He recalls the fire, the noise, the screams, the stench of death and decay. But for today, for this moment at least, there is tranquility. He wonders how long it will last this time._

 _He stares down into the valley. It is still filled with the last vestiges of summertime. Bees, which were lazy in June, have adopted a more militant march to search for food in the last bloom of wildflowers abundant below. The grass has turned to wheat already and nestles in between the purples and deep pink of the flowers. The trees scattered along the edges of the valley haven't started to lose their leaves yet, but the color is more yellow than the lush emerald green of high summer. In the past, she has always stood beside him on the edge of the cliff. Always offered him a finality he didn't want to hear._

 _He expects to find the land empty. To his surprise, a solitary figure walks amongst the tall wheatgrass, her hands brushing each stalk as she passes through to an unknown destination._

 _His eyesight grows fuzzy, unfocused, and the world shifts in on him. He is flying._

 _When eyesight sharpens again, he breathes in and his senses are assaulted by the earthy scent of late fall grass and wildflowers. He swats a pollen laden bumblebee from in front of his face and spots the woman still walking unhurriedly through the valley. He trails after her, at last speaking. His voice cracks and rings harsh, breaking the silence of the day. "Wait," he calls brokenly. "Wait. Don't leave me."_

 _Her hair color is obscured by the slant of the strong late morning sun at last streams into the valley. He can make out a slender shape, long hair, and graceful arms. She turns and waits for him. He thinks maybe he will have a chance for forgiveness. Maybe this time she will offer mercy. Maybe this time the outcome isn't assured._

 _He slides his eyes almost shut and allows instinct to shorten the distance between them, sure-footed in his steps. He has walked this path before. In many varied ways. He knows its final destination intimately. He has lived the anguish of the loss again and again._

 _There is a longing in him to reach her swiftly before she disappears from him as suddenly as she appeared in the valley. The distance left between them is closed. He senses he has reached her and falls to his knees before her, head bowed low._

 _He whispers, "Please."_

 _A faint brush of fingertips caresses his cheek, lifting his face._

 _Slowly, he drags his eyes to her and stares into an unexpected sight. She has changed the heavy contacts for small wire framed glasses, and her sandy colored hair is swept from her forehead with a barrette. She is familiar. And he finds this unexpected change to the familiar, oft-repeated pattern to be all wrong._

 _He had been expecting cold brown eyes denying him mercy and peace yet again. And instead, he finds a gaze filled with kindness and warmth. She has a wistful smile on her face. She is lovely._

 _A soft voice answers his please, "Gale, it's time…"_

"Gale, Mr. Hawthorne, sir, it's time to wake up."

I startle quickly from the dream, and my hand palms the knife hidden under the pillow of my couch, poised to kill with its sharpened blade before my mind registers who is shaking my arm.

Emma.

Before heading to sleep last night, I'd sent her a text asking her to meet me first thing this morning to research the archives in District 2. Strictly speaking, this was outside of her job responsibilities, but she was the best at finding the minutiae I tend to overlook in my haste. I suspect we won't find anything helpful, but I want a better understanding of the Revolution and its beginnings from the Capitol's viewpoint. It was likely there was no record of what Corvus had spoken of last month, but maybe, just maybe some scribe somewhere had noted some something.

My mind had more questions than answers and was struggling to put the pieces of this puzzle together. I was on the edge of figuring it out, but was missing a few key things, I thought. Emma excels at fitting ill-formed pieces of plans together. It was time I started trusting some others with my suspicions and she hasn't let me down yet.

When I'd texted her, I let her know where I hid my spare house key. I didn't keep anything of value here, and she didn't strike me as the type to misuse the benefit anyway. I hadn't counted on her coming this early in the morning, though. I notice her eyes drifting down my shirtless torso, and I tug up the blanket I'd grabbed from the back of the couch I'd fallen asleep on last night, feeling exposed.

"I'm sorry for waking you, si—Gale," she corrects herself, blushing, "but I knocked and you never answered. Your text seemed like it was important we get an early start, so I let myself in."

She trails off and waits expectantly for my response. As she lifts her eyes to mine and smiles faintly, remembrance hits me swiftly. The way she was standing directly over me made me recall the dream she had interrupted. As my eyes meet hers and linger for more than was strictly necessary, I suspect she isn't the only one blushing.

"Give me a minute or so to get ready, Emma, and I'll fill you in on what we're looking for, ok?" I'm not sure if the huskiness of my voice is due to still being sleepy or a natural reaction to her lingering gaze.

"Of course, s—Gale, I'll just wait outside on your porch. It's promising to be a beautiful day." She turns and starts towards the front door, and never sees the soft smile on my face. Beautiful indeed.

As she retreats, I note that even on a Saturday morning she is perfectly dressed with not one hair attempting to stray from the high ponytail she'd captured it in. For the first time, I allow myself to imagine what she would look like in an unguarded moment of passion, undone, and free from the control she always possessed. This line of thinking surely wouldn't help with getting ready for the day. With a sigh, I cross the small distance to my bathroom and steel myself for a short, cold shower.

Three hours later finds me banging my head on the table. The idea that we would find anything of usefulness here was now pretty far-fetched. I wonder how many more food supply lists I could possibly read before I went blind. The hollow thunk of my head hitting the wooden table resonates through the quiet room. The archivist peers over the top of the books stacked high on her corner desk and gives me a stern look. This time, she doesn't bother to shush me as she had the last two times I'd let my frustration be heard.

Without bothering to lift my head, I look across to Emma. She has been methodically sifting through a large tome dedicated to all the "achievements" of one Coriolanus Snow. She pauses on a page which contains a portrait I've never seen of Snow before. The President's family was hardly mentioned or shown. He had only ever recorded his broadcasts from the office in his mansion, rarely allowing any hints at a life existing outside his ruthless political realm.

The portrait shows a slightly younger Snow seated on a familiar throne-like chair, with a well-dressed little girl on his lap. The photographer had captured an unguarded moment of laughter from the President. The dark-haired little girl was smiling up at him with piercing violet colored eyes. I thought maybe the photographer had edited those eyes slightly, as how could anyone have eyes that color naturally. Or perhaps, knowing the Capitol's strange penchant for physical alterations, maybe her parents had fixed her eye color at birth. He was staring down at her, his usual blackened snake eyes gleaming with love for her. This picture was rare, maybe unique of the President.

I risk the disapproval of the archivist again by whispering conspiratorially to Emma, "I guess that old bastard could love something besides himself after all, huh? I wonder who she is."

Emma shuts the book quickly and opens her mouth to speak. Whatever she was going to say, though, is drowned out by a loud, unmistakable sound echoing through the vast archive.

Something large outside has just exploded.

I jump from my seat so suddenly my chair is knocked to the floor, all thoughts of the mystery child swept from my mind. Emma's quick jump up was almost identical to my own. She came to around the table to stand by my side. Instinctively, I grab her hand, and prepare to run for cover when another sound, not heard by me in two years, assaults us.

Once you have heard the boom of a cannon, you can't easily forget its deep timbre which haunts your ears long after the vibrations of its discharge have stopped. My eyes dart around to the large hologram projection which has appeared mid-air, and I froze in place. The source of the cannon booming had been found.

When Paylor became President, she ordered a cease-and-desist on this means of communication. All mandatory Capitol hologram announcements were forbidden and hadn't been seen since. With my heart pounding in my head, and my hand curiously still linked with Emma's, we wait together with bated breath for the message.

After the cannon vibrations quiet, the dark blue projection screen flashes white three times and a masked figure appears. He was superimposed over images of a burning Presidential Capitol building. His voice, when he speaks, is deep and electronically distorted. His words, chilling.

 _People of Panem._

 _We are the remnant. We have not forgotten._

 _We will expose the corruption which has infiltrated at the highest level of your new_

 _Administrative regime._

 _We will not be subdued or controlled any longer._

 _We will not submit further to President Paylor._

 _We will see the glory days of Panem restored._

 _You have been warned._

 _We are the Res Novae._

 _Be prepared for the retribution coming._

The screen flashes dark and, as suddenly as the hologram had appeared, it is gone. The breath I had been holding wooshes from me. My eyes close as the missing pieces of the puzzle click together in my mind. Our peace, so hard won, is at an end.


End file.
